


True Life

by scribblemoose



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-05
Updated: 2010-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:28:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemoose/pseuds/scribblemoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark stuff. Spoilers throughout S1 and S2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Life

Merlin sank to his knees in the mud and let the tears fall. That it _always_ all came down to this: that human life should end in blood and mess and filth, was simply too much to bear. That _Arthur's_ life should end this way was worse even than that; it was wrong.

"I won't let this happen," he said, slipping an arm around Arthur's shoulder to raise him as far as he could from the mud.

"Merlin," Arthur murmured. He coughed and blood bubbled, trickled from the corner his mouth, dark and sinister. "Get away from here. Go."

"No. I won't. Not you. Not _you_."

"I'm not stupid, Merlin. I know what this means. Please, go somewhere safe. Save yourself. Save Camelot."

"Mordred's dead." Merlin looked around the wasteland Arthur was dying on: everywhere corpses and death and blood. Fires still burning out the consequence of Merlin's grief. "The battle's over. I think we might have won."

At that, Arthur smiled, his face calm. "That's good. Tell Guinevere-"

"No! Don't you give up on me. There's still so much to do, Arthur. Albion can be united after this, the kingdom will be yours to rule. What's the point of coming this far and then...."

"Stop crying, Merlin." Arthur reached out blood-drenched fingers to stroke Merlin's cheek. "You're such a girl."

His eyes flickered shut and he gave one last, bubbling sigh.

Merlin went cold from head to toe, felt the life leaving him, the love turning to something cold and brittle and afraid. The tears meant nothing, did nothing but turn his heart to lead, but still they fell. There was nothing left to love. Nothing left to be. If he couldn't stop this, if he couldn't save Arthur, he had nothing. Was nothing. Nothing.

He was aware of a flap of wings, a muted roar as Kilgarrah returned from the far edges of the battlefield.

"Morgana?" Merlin said, his voice flat.

"Gone," Kilgarrah said with a rough sound of satisfaction, and settled to the ground, folding his wings and arching his head down close.

"Arthur's dead," Merlin said, trying the words out for size. They sounded terribly, horrifically real. His heart clenched.

"You could change that, warlock," Kilgarrah said, and Merlin could feel his breath, hear the rasp of forked tongue and the rattle of scales. "You know you can. You've done it before."

"That was different. I didn't know the cost back then. Who would it take this time? Gwen? Lancelot? Some innocent villager? A child? I may have the power, Kilgarrah, but I don't have the right."

Kilgarrah blinked a long, slow blink, and whispered. "But they were made of life. They are born of humanity. Arthur is not. Arthur was made of magic. The human sacrifice is already made, when you took the Witch Nimueh all those years ago. It is not his human life that Mordred claimed."

Merlin looked up sharply, cradling Arthur to his chest, his fingers wrapping themselves in dirty golden hair. "What?"

"This is not the end, Merlin. This is the beginning. It's your beginning to make. _Our_ beginning."

Merlin looked at Arthur's still face, held his lifeless body and remembered everyone he'd failed. Every life he hadn't saved. Every death he hadn't stopped.

One more would be too much. _This_ one would be too much.

"Help me," Merlin breathed, and saw Kilgarrah's nod out of the corner of his eye.

It was a very different magic. It was quiet and gentle and took of Merlin's very soul; it was the magic of the Old Religion, the deep magic that was wrapped around his heart and in his hope and spirit. He took a breath and let go of old loss and new terror, left himself open once more to pain and love. He felt the dragon's breath flow through him, the power of the earth flow through him, the power of air, of wind, and finally the power of water; of the ocean and rivers, of the Lake.

Merlin shoved aside useless armour and padding and sweat-soaked linen until he could touch the skin over Arthur's belly; he sent his power deep, through skin and muscle and blood and bone and into the place where Arthur's spirit fluttered like a baby bird, weak and timid. Not like a human life, Merlin realised, and with that thought his own heart leapt. Not like Will or even Balinor, not like all the lives Merlin hadn't saved. Arthur was _different_.

_Arthur was made of magic._

Merlin let his power build, let Kilgarrah give the spark and poured his magic into Arthur, white-light and heat and hope.

In less than a second the flame in Arthur burned again. He gasped in breath to newly healed lungs; the bruises under the blood and grime were gone, the broken bones were mended. His eyes shot open, a glint of gold fading to reveal brilliant blue, and he managed "Merlin, how....?" before he clutched Merlin close and started, very loudly and wonderfully, to cry big, joyful tears.

Merlin held Arthur to him, wallowed in his heartbeat, in every strong and living breath, and kissed his hair.

"_Now_, you have begun, Lord Warlock and the King of Albion," Kilgarrah said. "Now we can _truly_ live."

The Last, Great Dragon lifted himself high into the sky on a single wingbeat, and turned for home.

_~fin~_


End file.
